Photo rekindles fond memories of Dad

He is always the one to make the calls. Not my Mom. She isn't a fan of the phone, a trait I sadly inherited, and very rarely makes the check-in calls.

It is always my Dad's sweet voice calling to see how David and I and the girls are all doing.

If my mother does pick up and calls, my first thought upon hearing her voice is always "Is everything OK?"

Did something happen to Dad is always in the back of my mind. Heaven forbid. I dread that call.

There had been a photo of my Dad and me, taken when I was 3. It is a close-up, and we are not looking at the camera. We are gazing elsewhere, and I find photos like that are hard to come by circa 1974, as they all seemed posed and staged.

This photo captured quiet time with my Dad, and like all things I adore, it's in the details.

My father has tremendous sideburns in the photo. His thick, black hair that has always been parted to the side is long and almost curly in the shot.

But the best part of the photo is his shirt. It is a psychedelic pattern of reds and yellows and black. I remember the shirt so well as it was one of my favorites. The collars are tremendously long, and close to his face.

I am adorable as any 3-year-old, with my sandy blond, curly tendrils.

My Dad and I used to go to our "special place" when I was a kid. It was usually a chair in the living room, but in a pinch, it was a curb or under a tree.

Here, we would talk, and he would listen to my preschool ramblings and laugh.

We always concluded these "meetings" with a few songs. Always the song that goes "Daisy, daisy, tell me my love for you"»" then an Irish drinking song, which had me question what rye was for years to come.

"Too Ra Loo Ra Loo Ra," an Irish lullaby, was usually our finale, although, as I learned to whistle, it became the Notre Dame Fight song.

God, I love that man.

Dad told me on the phone yesterday that he found that photo of us. I have always liked to imagine it was taken in our special place, but I will never know for sure.

I was overjoyed, as I haven't seen this photo in so many years.

He is giving it to me for my birthday, he said.

He spoke of how I used to run waving goodbye as he pulled away for work as a New York City firefighter, and always thought in his head, I pray to God I return home, as he saw me in his rear view mirror.